


Rome Rising

by Cheer_The_Underdog_On



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Love Story, M/M, Murder, Rivalmance (Sorta?), Vampire AU, Witches, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 04:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheer_The_Underdog_On/pseuds/Cheer_The_Underdog_On
Summary: What happens when you hate someone so much, and they just won't stay dead? But then they're all you have left twenty thousand years later and it's hard to not fall in love with the only familiar face left who remembers when you were the Sun God of Egypt. It's really hard finding vampires to date that you have stuff in common with these days, but maybe Roxas and Axel really are cursed with bad luck and crossed stars.





	Rome Rising

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for two years. I think its somewhat stitched together, but I'd like you guys to enjoy, the second half may never get written, but there five pages of bits and pieces, so who knows, maybe I'll finish this. Anyways, enjoy.

He hunts bits of himself in the depths of his brain like wolves hunt prey, waiting for the parts not yet discovered to weaken and drop like an injured elk in thick January snow. Bright white fangs clamp down on its trembling neck to spill virgin blood to quench his carnivorous thirst for something new: knowledge. That is who he is, the wolf, lone and married to the moon. At least, he thinks, this is who he is, but answers to questions he's asked a million times still slip away leaving him eternally empty as the sands of time drip, drip, drip into another day. 

Footsteps tie him to reality. A voice, the first he’s heard in days tells him what he already knows, "You're going to die if you wait much longer, and I don't know if this time you'll be able to come back." The voice is soft, familiar, smooth; it belongs to Him. Him and honey, they are the same in their rich sweet way. It only makes sense that due to Him, he’d get stung by the bee. He looks to the nails in his wrists and sighs as if it were merely a scratch. For him, the hunger is more painful. Ah, execution come and put his misery to death already.

To perish by sun was a slow affair, but so was crucifixion which was how he was being held on this hill top waiting to atone for his sins against the Roman Empire. It is dark now. The stars shine mockingly on him; the moon glows in her way obscenely, sheltering this forbidden meeting. “The whole court will have to move now because of you. Because you were caught.” Ah yes, the court always was good at playing the blame game. Of course the bodies in the street were his and not some other monsters cowering behind the King’s feet as they shoved guilt onto the outcast. Young women ripped apart in the most unholy of ways of which even Roxas would shudder at. “I loved this city.”  
  
“Don’t get too emotional about the event.” Roxas, married to the moon, laughs though it is a hollow sound. They are casual. Like they’ve danced this dance so many times before, but maybe they have. He always seems to know the blond as if they’re old friends, but he doesn’t know this man.  He remembers him, but he doesn't _know_ him. The man that stands before him is bathed in soft swathes of fabric, a crown upon his head. “You always move. I was just harkening inevitable. To kill a man, to kill men, you knew who I was when you saw me on the river bed that day, so how can you be surprised at any of this.” He thinks back to their last meeting and of what He must know about him. There are only facts and memories: July’s blaring sun had just slipped beyond the horizon, and he had looked up from a boat slipping in from the sea into harbor. Everything from the wood to the workers had whispered royalty. Royalty in hues of blue and gold as He had taken a step down onto the pier, surrounded by His followers. “Do you remember what I asked you that day?” The blond licks his lips as a cracked canine continues to cut the inside of his parched lips. Blue eyes pour into the shining green before him, and he knows that the King is not disillusioned about who committed this crime.     
  
The sun is rising soon, and sooner He will have to leave. Flee, really. The prisoner from his cross can already see His attendants approaching the hill from his crucifix. At least the view from his grave was good. Roxas wonders where He will go, though, once He leaves Roxas and Rome behind. France? Spain? China? It is not as if they have to worry about time. They have been here before. Egypt, not even a few decades ago. Kneeling in front of the throne, Roxas had asked the Sun God to spare his life. Stealing sacrifices, the virginity of women meant for the temple, had marked the blond for death. 

“You asked me if I was an ancient god.” The redhead laughs, “If I lived forever.”

“And what did you say?” Blue eyes recall the faces of the others, of the Vampire Court. Cloth, thick and white, had made their togas and shrouded their faces as they stepped onto the banks of a  new land. They had shed their Egyptian facade as quickly as the Roman Empire had rose. Vampires, Vrykolatios, they had always loved wealth and comfort. Demons of sin. Roxas sees them before him once again as they stand a short distance behind their king. Many of them glare up at him, but the yellow eyes of the true murderer only meet his apathetically. Just who was this monster that was high enough in the ranks to claim he was a man?- an innocent one at that. 

Roxas’ focus moves back to the statue of a monarch in front of him,“What did you say?” He repeats, drawing the whispers out from the king.

“If I were a god, then so were you.” Green eyes held his blue for a moment. Lips quirked into a small smile before he began to laugh softly: a sad sound.“Oh Roxas, you really do have the worst fate of all us, but then again,” The King approaches, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss the blond’s cheek. Normally in rebellion, Roxas would spit or hiss, but even he can’t when beaten down this badly. “You were closer to Him than any of us, not that you remember.” 

Ah, to be a god; he could dream. “ I’m tired of your haughty riddles and mind games. I may not know what you’re talking about, but I do remember this: you put me to death that day in Egypt.” A long sigh, “And here I die again. I remember you asked me something right before you gave the order. Do you remember your question?”  
  
“Yes, I do… I asked you if you knew why you had killed my sacrifices. Perhaps if you had known the answer when I executed you the first time, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. I suppose it is inconvenient for you that the axeman failed to do the job correctly and you end up in this city just when my court begins to act up again. A miracle to come back even once from a death like that, but I assure you: you were a fool to live again. Don’t let your spirit follow me in the afterlife; knowing you, it’ll only lead to more trouble for the both of us.” An attendant behind Him says something. The sun is about to rise, “Goodbye. I’m sure in another life, we would have known each other well.”  
  
In the distance, Roxas can smell smoke; a horn echoes through the city. “I assure you, Axel,” His companion in conversation flinches at the use of his given name both in surprise that the blond knows it and that the hatred that rolls off of that tired tongue. Spell broken, Axel pulls up his hood and turns to follow his guards away from the crucifix. The screams slam into him from behind, and his court has little clue how much this truly pains him. To them, this was just the king acting out of boredom, not knowing anything of the shared past behind the two Old Bloods. Not that Roxas knew of their shared status. Roxas didn’t know much of anything these days. Nothing but his anger and loneliness, and it was all his fault. “I will haunt you until the end of days! I will be a thorn in your side!” His words are bitter jabs for pain in a withered heart, “You know I didn’t do this!” He screams to the party in the distance, “You’ll regret this! I hope the sun claims us both.”

And when Rome burns, he sees the sunrise for the first time.

The blond finds out in the worst possible way that he can survive the sun, which isn’t normal for his kind. He is underwhelmed by the fact rather than the shock he should be feeling because this mean his starvation is a drawn out affair. Before his banishment from Egypt, he had witnessed an execution or two by the hands of Him- Axel- from a distance. Roxas is sure that half the sands of the valley are made of bodies of vampires eaten away by the sun. In his thoughts, he posits that the heat isn’t painful or pleasurable. It is distasteful if anything. The torture truly is in his hunger and thirst. 

The days are long, but the nights are longer. Whatever keeps his hollow husk of a body going wakes him in the cool of the evenings, and he watches the ocean in the distance with only his thoughts as his companions. The raising of the city has come and gone leaving only ash and outlines in his mind of what once was there. He lives in bursts of not knowing how long he has hung there eventually. What pisses him off the most, more than the hunger, he decides, is not being able to scratch his face when the flies buzz in his ears.

Finally, after weeks of living in a fitful dream state where he struggles for wrists without rope and nails, a group of merchants stumbles upon him and asks what has happened. The explanation is short as he flexes his wrists and makes up a lie until he can sink his teeth into the second thing he’d been thirsting for, the first being freedom. He rubs his face immediately after, scratching away at the skin slowly coming back to life. Nuzzling his hands, he doesn’t think to look at his art work around him until after he’s done celebrating by flexing his fingers and stretching. The necks of what were men are a painting of red snapped open in the sunlight. He knows it's not right on some level to have dark arterial blood, purple and blue, sink into the sand. Perhaps next time, he won’t be so wasteful, but that thought leads into another and another. And he takes some clothing and the horses and rides. 

To search for the court that has left him to die twice would be ignorant, so instead, he simply looks for another large city for food, company, and closure. 

The things he learns over the ages are this: normal vampires cannot survive under any circumstances under the sun as he watches his friend Apollo turn to ash in a mishap in Venice. They can recover from extraordinary damages; Helena discovers after reattaching her ripped off arm as he stitches it up, but not death, unless, they are Roxas who notes that the incident on the hill is unique in all ways. In his travels, he begins to collect notes as he talks to more and more young vampires. Each one is different in their own kind, and the way their species behaves is different by location. A vampire becomes a vampire not by being bitten, but by blood share. They are then blood bonded to their creator, who will have power over them until the end of days, but loses power by sharing his blood. Power is gained by age or by creator. The more powerful the creator, the more powerful the vampire starts off. Those are the only facts. The mystery is in the other talents a charge might inherit from their master. Each Old Blood of the Court seems to have their own precious skill. He wonders how old a vampire must be to receive their gift. He seems to think he’s very old, but maybe not as old as the Court.

Roxas doesn’t remember who created him, but he is old, he decides. Axel, Sun God, is old too. Axel, his tainted name, is only the Sun God due to the misperceptions of humans. He gathered the humans together and began to unite their clans, but by day he had to sleep. By the moon he was free to roam. He served as their protector in the night, and the wolf among them. That pattern and his strength made the humans associate his cycles with the time of day. Therefor, when the sun was in the sky, that’s where Axel was, and when the sun set, Axel was free to walk among them. Eventually, after intermittently stepping back into check on the human’s development he was the first Pharaoh. Every couple of decades, he would reappear after resting in his temple. The whole charade was a clever trick over mortal men, the cattle of the vampire world. The court flocked to him as he created or discovered them since Axel is not the only Old Blood. His temple grew into a religion that swept through desert empires. Through that and the creation of the Court, he then gained political power. He began to form their personal society. 

Old Bloods. They are fallen from the skies, Lucifer’s followers. Here on Earth, they still keep some of their supernatural powers. As far as Roxas knows most of this is more myth and speculation by other young vampires. From what he can tell more recently,  Axel may have the ability to control any vampire, including other Old Bloods. Vexen, another Old Blood from the far East, has the ability over ice and barriers. Demyx, a carefree messenger boy for the court, reveals himself to be Axel’s kin too with the powers of water and sound. There are more, but Roxas fails to hear rumor of them as he voyages in France. Eventually, he has quite a list. He sketches their faces when he sees them at the odd party. Axel runs a tight ship, though. Few are kept around after several decades if they even show a hint of resistance or rebellion. 

Studying the political patterns, Roxas eventually gets bored with writing papers that were little more than gossip rags soaked deep with things he heard from the lowest of the ranks. He picks apart himself in hatred and apathy with his project until he finds deep in his heart a desired  plan to avenge himself, and in candlelight and table cloth, he hunts a serial killer reforged in justice as a politician. Not once, twice, but another time, he finally sees Axel in close proximity, but this time, he is no Sun God. They are dinner companions. 

Mutual friend, Namine, a witch he is sure as she is no longer a mortal woman, has invited them to supper with other polite company. Mortal women do not live longer than sixty without showing a wrinkle unless they are playing the feast of flesh, he knows of this as he inspects her face as she plays hostess. After a verbose introduction casually dropping his most recent publication on philosophy, she sits her two most important guests across from each other. “I saw it in the stars.” She whispers to him when she sees his tormented confusion. “Play civil, boys.”

He has never gripped a knife so tight. He had dreamed of this, but so soon has thrown him off center. He’d had a thousand lifetimes of this reunion. Thought of them in every city, what he would say, how he would kill him. Why would a king betray him for Saix? Saix Inglam of all the vampires in the world. He was disgusting. Polluted and evil even by their ranks.

Axel, Axel doesn’t even recognize him, he thinks as the vampire laughs at one of the other company’s jokes. They talk about trade. They talk about politics. They shape the eras. They make the plans. Humans are just pawns in their wars for lush goods and desires. “I don’t even like gold anymore.” The redhead comments at one point, “I’ve forgotten want. Now I am just an actor in a play. To live so long you no longer experience need or desire for survival, it is a sad state, but I carry on.” The tragedy, he plays it so well that it makes the blond sick. He wants to vomit, but he’s probably the only one here who couldn’t afford to ruin his own clothes.

Looking around, he is not the only thrown off by the King’s comment. Roxas and the others are perhaps the same in still finding passion in life, but the blond’s only drive is to kill the man who has wronged him. If he couldn’t have Saix, then he would take the second best. Or both. Both was flirting with danger, but there was no more a sensual dream than draining both vampires dry. After that, where would he go? Would he sympathize with the King then? After his revenge, what did he want? Man could not live on gossip alone, and he was nothing more than a lunatic on the fringes of vampire society. People knew him, knew of him, how could they not? He was almost as old as the King, but no one paid attention to the man anymore than they believed he couldn’t burn in the sun.

The blond’s fresh voice rings like a bell, “Do you think,” Axel turns to him as they finally taste dessert, recognition in his eyes revealing he had known since before the door had been knocked upon that Roxas would be here. The candles flicker above them on the chandelier during the speaker’s pause reminding him that this is less of dinner and more of dinner theater. Wax has yet to drip down onto his head to crown him with blisters and heat, “That that is your punishment?” Roxas finishes with the elegance of Shakespeare; fangs flash in a haughty smile, “That that is all our punishment?” It feels like he hasn’t spoken in one hundred years. That all words between their meetings have meant nothing. That he has been saving all his voice for this single instance.  

A pause,“To live forever until I lose will and want?” The King thinks aloud.

“Yes. That is your eternal punishment.”

“What a horrible way to be.” Axel brushes crumbs away from his plate, “But I suppose it was inevitable. One cannot live happily for eternity. Destiny and Disaster are sisters after all. It’s a pity you couldn’t just remain quiet and just let Destiny sit in on this meal, but then again, all I can ever remember is that loud mouth of yours. I see Disaster sitting at the table now as well.”

When Roxas lunges, he forgets that he had been sitting, so the table, oak and very heavy, is overturned. The plates shatter into an off white mosaic. He grabs shards as arms fly to restrain him and with bleeding hands he punches pulp out of that gaudy face, “You left me there!” Axel leaks sludge as the blond knew he would, and as he is yanked away, he spits on that awful face. That face smiles covered in black blood as the redhead staggers to his feet. He hasn’t been struck in more than a hundred years. Laughter bubbles from his bleeding lips before he chokes up a tooth. No concerns, it would regenerate. His broken face will all fall into place. Jaw, bones, skull, they would shift and slide beneath paper skin back to perfection.

“Honestly, you can’t still be upset about that?” He mocks him as if he’s a child.

Before the blond stands a horror. The vampire before him is power, vision, and blood lust. “You wronged me, and you won’t even say your sorry. You sent an innocent man to die, so you could let your lap dog continue to fetch your bidding.” He’s found it all out. He knows everything there is to know about Saix. All of the aliases can’t be washed away when in the wake of the horror lies bodies upon bodies. 200 of them at least. There were more for sure waiting for Roxas to upturn the truth and give them peace. “All so what? You could find the other Old Bloods? Your orgies got lonely with only the five of you?” 

He wishes he could flee the scene of the crime, but these ghouls would follow the scent of their master’s blood on his hands and devour him as soon as he paused to even catch his breath. “Please,” Namine is standing in the corner gazing over the scene as a priestess would a ritual sacrifice. There is no surprise to her. She brought this together all with a glass of wine in her hand and some good cheese. Taking another sip, her lips are stained with juice, “I told you to be civil. Don’t play with your food, Axel.” Roxas can’t even scream.

He wakes up from being ripped apart a year and a half later. His flesh is still not fully formed, and it is dark. He is missing his fangs. Metal fills his mouth and he realizes, no, he is not missing them. They’ve been capped in silver. He is little more than a skeleton with patchy hair and eyes bulging from their sockets. The darkness. It is dark. Where is he? A tomb, he realizes a day later, a May later. He is locked in stone, and vocal cords still freshly built release a scream that no one hears for he is to be kept in the crypt until the ages of man rise and fall. With only his fingers, not even nails, but the bones, still raw, he begins to claw himself to freedom and the light.   

Oh, a fight, a struggle, but stone gives way to will. That is when the water begins to leak in. Drop by drop, and he realizes, that these monsters wanted him gone for good, but why? Why sink him in the sea? A criminal perhaps, but not someone worth this much effort. Why give a funeral someone you shredded for an after supper snack? 

He still hasn’t found the answer when his body slips into hibernation.

The river runs dry much like memories do, and the incident at dinner fades into nothing more than absent minded references of the old at parties to make the time pass. Perhaps it is no wonder that the stone box is found by explorers on a detoured voyage to the coast and they think, “Ah, treasure at last.” When they open what they think might be the hidden pall of Charlagmain, or a knight on his quest for the Holy Grail, they are find a much different fiend. 

Fangs capped with silver still pierce and allow him to eat, but something is wrong, he notes after killing the company of men. Usually the last moments are peaceful when he slips in his fangs. The mortals fall asleep instead of screaming death awake. Is it his mistake since he has been asleep so long? Is his memory gone?

Footsteps in the sand allow him to stumble away in the sunlight. 

Part one, done.

Part two is a tango now that the history is known. By coating with slick silver, they’d stolen his vampire venom and his victory. Unable to reproduce his own followers and remember little more than his own name, he could no longer put humans to sleep or mingle with his fellow vampires lacking the key. Venom stripped away made him impotent in the community for sex was nothing to them. What became pleasurable was the venom that carried power and blended and bonded with their brains as Opium would. Putting each foot in front of the other, he walks his way back to civilization. A small French village signals itself with small plumes of smoke, and there he clothes himself and catches up best he can although there’s a hole in his memory that seems to be growing instead of being filled. 

It is there in that village he finds himself a lone hero in the planes of Europe’s Wild West. He walks the narrow road and river bed to righteousness and rebellion. The year is 1913 and something isn’t right.

It always takes him a few years to catch up after being dead for a while. He reads dusty manuscripts on what he has missed, life gone, but not forgotten since the old pages fill him in. Occasionally, he catches brief glimpses of his kind in mention absentmindedly in the stories of man. Fading in and out of reality, they are lumped into the minds of romantic writers trying to scare a reader with ghoulish delight. They are nothing more than mythos, he discovers, due to the Church putting forth a purge during the witching era, and he briefly wonders about Namine.

He met Namine in the rain on the street. She had been young then, the year something medieval, and possibly no more than twelve. Already she had stood strong, blonde hair pouring down around her face in a matted mess. Blue eyes had cut him deep, accusing him of ancient sin. In the heaviest of the storm, she shouted in the mud, “Give me your purse.” Holding a knife to his throat as if the kiss of the blade would cull him, “I have little patience.” She hissed.

Ah, she had already stood strong, but not in the way of magic, and Roxas had laughed. “Be my sister for a week, and if you still want my wallet then, let me know.”

“I am no one’s whore.”

“And certainly not mine.” He concluded, “We are practically twins, and I am lonely. Come along with me to dinner and I will tell you a story.” She could have slit his throat there. He could have snapped her spine, Either way, by chance she lowered her iron, and Roxas had made true on his word.

They stop in a tavern, and the putrid stink of men in the room makes Roxas gag. It is a nicer inn and tavern for a town of this size. He only figures this after asking for hot food, a room with two beds, and baths to be drawn and the owner nodding yes. If there’s one thing he would never get over, it would be the loss of hygiene after the Greeks. When he tells Namine to wash up because proper hygiene is important, she asks what ‘hygiene is’.“I suppose it’s a god that died with the Romans.” He laughs only to himself. 

Namine also asks about the bill, “That’s a lot of money. A room, food, baths...You have a lotta money, mister?” She licks her lips, regretting not robbing him now.

Money is never hard to come by when you live forever. Eventually, accumulation in your pocket makes it heavy even if you don’t hoard it like a dragon, and since she is young, he decides to explain it all. Vampires, witchcraft, the devil’s hour, “It is all ours.” He flips through the pages of a manuscript that he had saved from a monastery, “Here, they were to burn this, but it’s yours. You can be one of us if you like. You have it in your blood. I can smell it.” The dusty manuscript is something they must have ripped from the walls of a wood witch, brewing away cures for simple illness and calamity in her hovel. Yet they treat it like she killed King Arthur, burning her alive. 

Namine doesn’t believe him until a couple years later he gets hungry enough to eat in front of her, biting into the neck of a father of two, wife at home waiting on him. But Roxas knows nothing of that life, and more of taking what he believes is his. Namine’s eyes shine, “You really live forever?” She asks. The book, little more than a weight she had been carrying around in her bag all this time, becomes more valuable than gold. 

“Forever.” He confirms with a wicked smile as he wipes his mouth.

“I want that.”

Roxas looks her over as he drops the man to the side. He snores softly, and with that confirmation, the blond thinks deeply. She is little more than fifeteen. “When you’re older. You want to get turned when you have a bit more respect.” He thinks. He thinks of himself due to their similar appearance; he is blond, blue eyes, pale skinned. Yet short, no whiskers on his face. “When I was turned…” Well, he doesn’t remember when he was turned. Namine waits for his story to begin, but, “I just wish I had been a bit older.” He finishes deadly.

Roxas isn’t a man; he’s a vampire, and vampires have their own version of sexuality and pleasure. Namine was worried once he’d be interested in her, but they truly are like twins. He promises her his lifestyle, though. They are friends finding interest in the same thing, but in the morning as he sips his tea, trying to figure out what he wants to do that day, she is reading the manuscript, and for years, she reads and memorizes and practices until one day she tells him, “It’s time. Turn me.”

And he can’t.

“You promised you’d turn me.” She sits next to him on the bed. She is twenty-two and it is time. She’s not getting any younger or more beautiful. “You promised. Don’t deny me this, Roxas. We can be together forever.”

And it’s obvious. It’s the obvious decision; he should turn her. He should let her become one of them. “I’m just not hungry right now.” He decides with a lie, because they’re always somewhat hungry. He could always go for a bite to eat, but his appetite is spoiled. “In the morning.”Leaving for her own room, he can see her anger building, and he wishes he could explain this reluctance and responsibility he feels for her life. “In the morning, I promise. I always keep my promises.” He smiled at her reassuringly. He feels her frustration melt a bit, “In the morning…”

In the morning, he is gone.

Namine blames him for a long time. Holds him hostage in her hate. Her powers become more pronounced with her emotions, and she feels the clock tick, tick, ticking away until she meets another man with that same pale skin. “Turn me.” She coos out in the same sweet game of seduction.

Axel laughs, “I’ve always had a thing for blondes.”

Yes, Roxas thinks of Namine and that night at dinner where she lured him in using his plans of revenge to get hers by having Axel feed upon him. He slams his history book shut along with his journal of notes and closes his eyes long enough to make it through the first war.

Wars do not concern vampires since they make it easier to hunt men. Men find it harder to track them when they are already losing one after another in the violence. World War I, that scares Roxas. Roxas in Europe flees to America and is accused again and again of being a dirty German. This new country, one that hadn’t been even founded when he was locked away during the Renaissance terrifies him. The English is hard to learn as well. He had adapted quickly, though and by the roaring twenties, he is finally woven into the tapestry of society as he publishes another set of small books on vampires for the new members of their species. Humans get ahold of them too, but they are considered joke until by a mysterious order, Roxas’ literature is considered taboo to human and vampire alike and must be destroyed. That’s how he knows Axel is still out there. 

He thinks about Axel as he picks at the silver. The silver never goes away. It eats away and corrodes at the inside of his mouth at all time. It is truly a punishment fit for Prometheus as he picks away at the rotting skin of his cheek. The constant regeneration makes it bearable until the silver begins to make blood seep out fresh and thick again. As much as he hates his torment, the fangs become his signature. Roxas Silverfang. The name isn’t clever or original, but it makes it so he can just stamp a set of teeth on an envelope and not his name as he’s sending out party invites that night. A new vampire has just come to town, and he knows it’s an Old Blood. He has been trying to play nicer ever since he got back onto better terms with the Court with his record and memories somewhat erased. Maybe even with his book being banned, this might smooth it out. He’s been a dutiful member of society as of late. He’s attended parties and amused them with his stories. He’s been a performer, a comedian, but it’s just as hollow and empty an art to him as all the people in these parties are. But his party will be different, he decides. 

The redhead’s invite arrives sharply at 11 a.m. as Axel takes his tea out on the patio. The canopy above the area is heavily secured even though it is a lovely day casting inky shade onto the breakfast spread. Reading the newspaper, it is a welcome distraction to receive mail versus allowing his eyes to peruse the drawl that is this country’s political climate. It’s unbelievable that right after the war, the Americans move on to party like it’s going out of style, but ah, that is the life of the rich. There are no cares for the dirtier of life’s thoughts. The hardest thing since the fall of Rome is the complex the Anglo-Saxons have had post take over. Axel scoffs, dark skinned but not by the sun, as he sips his tea. After all, he was a true Egyptian god. 

As his attendant unfolds the rich vanilla colored envelope, black paper with gold accents displays in polite print that there is to be a gathering that evening at Silverfang’s house. The redhead laughs as he inhales the scent of the past and with no one to comment to that would understand, he absently tells the server, “It’s good to know that even after the third time I’ve killed him, he’s embraced his punishment.” 

Roxas used to hate big parties. He didn’t understand why you would have people over that you didn’t know, but now with age he understands that the more people, the more pain that everyone is trying to hide with superficial wealth and beauty. He strings chandeliers dripping with crystals from the ceiling. He lights the halls that are bathed in fine art, and cloth, and stylish goods. The pool out back is filled with flower blossoms and the musicians have started up already as the food arrives. His first guest is an actress in a beautiful pink dress along with her husband, a tall strong man with long legs, his mouth goes dry. Mothers always told him to eat dessert last though, so he lets her find a drink and tells her husband to have a good time. “Come find me later during the party and let me know how you’re doing.” He winks.

When his non-human guests arrive, he is fawning just like they want him to be. Rehabilitation has done him well, Roxas promises to the Court guests that are pleased at the spread. He’s still waiting on one person, but he tries not to let everyone see his nervousness. His anxiety builds. That moment reveals what the blond has known for centuries, that as much as he’s hated Axel or lusted for his attention, he is obsessed. Their interactions have been few, but  while the dark skinned taller man’s life has never revolved about him, Roxas is always searching for him and seeking him out. Like an artist with their muse, he doesn’t know why, but he is obsessed and wants no one to have him.

They’ve hardly had more than a false conversation in the past, but this is the time to change it. He’s sure that him and Axel only fight because they are the same, or at least he hopes that is it, but he is the criminal and the redhead a king as he arrives in a rich blue suit making Roxas appear like a boy at the door, “Welcome.” His palms sweat.

“Let’s try not to kill each other tonight, dearest.” And somehow through the murder and the mayhem, it is almost true. This violent relationship has kept them tethered to reality. The Court members have come and gone. Killed off by each other or humans or accidents, they have all met their end and new ones risen, but Roxas and Axel are permanent, here before even the oldest in their midst. 

“I can’t promise anything.” Where’s Namine? He doesn’t ask, but he wonders since last he had heard in a long game of word of mouth, she had been his concert for a century or two. “Come in.” He plays the host and lets his guest amble off into the throngs of people for some fun because he knows that the other is a lion and will return to him, the lamb, soon. Sure enough, he slips up the stairs at half past eleven, and something red and wicked follows. He whispers later in the redhead’s ear once he’s drunk, “Sacrifice me.”

“I already did.” Rome. Rome had been the night their twisted game of religion had began. With only a belief of absolute faith in each other, they had been free to pretend there was life after death. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved a man before.” Axel cups his cheek before brushing back blond behind marble carved ears, “But if there was one, it’d be you. You always come back.” Lips crash together at the top of the staircase. Roxas feels himself thrown over a shoulder. Yanked into a bedroom. Naked in matter of moments, the power of the redhead’s body is apparent above Roxas’ fragile but sturdy frame pressed against the mattress. Green eyes are like a leopard’s watching his every move for a moment to strike, and as the blond releases a shaky breath of anticipation, that’s when fingers fly through short hair and grip pale thighs so hard that dusky bruises might be left in the morning. All of this is simple foreplay, the humanity of it all a faux show before finally Axel settles to bite down on the inside of his thigh and drink deep of him. The only times in the past a vampire had fed on the blond, he had been ripped apart and deceased. This time, the venom soaks in deep to his bones up to his brain. He shudders and in a husky voice calls out his worshipful praise of his partner.

Weakened by pleasure and blood loss, it is Roxas’ turn to enjoy his fill of power as he rides the haze the venom leaves him in. Kissing up Axel’s smooth skin, he settles on the hips that jut out bumping against his chin as his place to mark. Pausing, he stutters in the decision for a moment before sliding his sharp silver through flesh.

He hears Axel’s scream of pain above him as the man’s abdomen trembles, “Fuck!” He’d long since grown used to the piercing, but there wasn’t something normal about the blond’s mouth.

Pulling away, Roxas’ lips are a sea of crimson, “Should I stop?”

That’s when it clicks for the older vampire. The fangs. The silver fangs. They burnt away at his skin. There is no pleasure in exposing himself to the blond. Roxas can only feed. He can never give his partner any bliss, “No, no…” His brows knot up in confusion, “Your fangs...Did I do that?”

He is sure this is a joke for a moment and laughs. It’s a sick joke, but he laughs, “You don’t remember?”

“No,” The redhead frowns in his drunken stupor, “I don’t. I remember telling them to finally give you the funeral you deserve, but the fangs...That was never me. I wasn’t expecting you to come back, sweet.” 

Roxas feels like he has just been punched in the gut, “Don’t lie to me.” His voice is soft and pleading. He can forgive a cruel joke once or twice, but he hates lies.

“I’m not.” Axel watches as the blond starts to back away, wiping his mouth as if suddenly the blood he was so eagerly lapping up prior is now nothing more than soured milk. The blond begins to pull on trousers and a shirt, “Roxas, I put you in a coffin. I told them to bury you. I thought if I did that you wouldn’t come back. You could finally sleep. You aren’t destined to succeed with the Court or on this planet. You’re little more than a toy to be played with here. That’s your punishment! That’s why He sent you down and you have it the worst of any of us. The next time you came back, if you came back, Namine wanted to-”

“Stop!” He screeches so loud it seems as if the party down below pauses. Perhaps the scent of blood has drifted to the dance floor. His house around him seems to fuzz out of reality. He staggers away, “I just wanted-”

“To what? Feel like you belonged? To be forgiven? Loved? Do you think I love you, Roxas?” White sheets begin to slip away to cover up what they had just done, “Perhaps I do as one would love a pet. I have a fondness for you- I want to protect you! We had a history before-” He motions around them, “Before all this. Before the humanity of it all.”

The silver is burning in his mouth, and he is sick. He feels a weight in his jaw that is building in pressure until he clutches at the wall and begins to hieve. Black blood drips from his lips and splatters onto his barefeet, “Stop. Just stop. Don’t say any more. I don’t care what you have to say. Not about Egypt. Not about Rome. Not about Paris or Venice. Or even now about today in New York. Where’s Namine?”

Axel’s lips are pursed. It is obvious he is caught up in thought. That crafty mind arranging a delicate affair of something diplomatic to say to get him out of this situation, but the smell of bad blood is in the air, “She is with me at home, but you are not permitted to see her, Roxas.”   
  


“Axel,” He finally can say the name without the other flinching, “Axel, don’t you dare tell me what I can and cannot do.  If these are her work,” He grips his fangs as begins to twist, “If these are hers,” He twists and yanks and twists and until the sound of roots ripping free fills the room and he cries out in pain before collecting himself. His teeth are a horror in his hands and more blood fills his mouth but he is finally free of the burning, “Deliver them back. This is her sick game for me not letting her have my venom.” He tosses them on the floor. “You left me to die three times in the dark. I won’t let you do it again.”

Opening the door, light spills into the room and the audience in the hall gasps and trembles in shame for being caught. Roxas can’t even hiss at them in a pitiful display of defiance without his fangs, so he covers his mouth and stumbles down the stairs. Gravel from his driveway cuts and stings the soles of his feet as he leaves for someone far away. What happens to that house, he’ll never know. He never looks back.

New Orleans is a different place. His fangs have failed to regenerate, but he waits there with Xion, a vampire frozen in her late twenties, who knows him from the writing game. She too puts pen to paper and thought into swirling cursive in a mix of French and English. The swampy south has changed dramatically with the role of technology, but out here in the countryside of Louisiana it is as if things never age. The summer heat nibbles at his motivation and he slinks like a cat into her life and onto her sofa. Her most recent husband is a handsome man aware of his wife’s ‘condition’. Xion is a leading innovator in the progression of human life partners who vampires use to feed off of. Perhaps one day Roxas will write more on the subject. Currently he is distracted though by long fingers petting through his hair as he sniffles quietly on her lap. 

They are old friends. Xion has learned much from Roxas and writes about a character much like him in the story she publishes for the local newspaper. In it, the man is in his early twenties trying to pretend he is in control of his father’s business, but through trial and tribulation he comes to the conclusion he is little more than a boy hiding his feelings away until his wife helps build him up. All of the housewives love it. They think Richard, the main character, is quite handsome. “I thought he would maybe like me given the chance.” The blond begins, “I thought maybe the ill feelings could clear up. I think about him every day. I know he thinks of me too. Perhaps he doesn’t think of me to the same amount, but he even said that if he could love a man, it would be me.”

There are many things to say about the situation, but Xion knows that this isn’t Roxas’ first romance, and he knows all of what she can whisper in his ear. She lets him cry since that’s what he needs. “You can rebuild yourself as someone different. You tried hating him. You tried loving him. Now you  just need to try not being anything to him. It is a simple boyhood crush, Roxas. Forget the past, honey. Continue on in the future.” After all, Roxas is an artist of all trades. Years of practice with the best of any generation, why wouldn’t he utilize that now in the modern era?

He knows she’s  right as he gazes down onto her Indian rug and strokes the plush surface, “Xion, what if my fangs don’t come back? It’s never taken me this long to regenerate anything this long before.”

“Then  you’ll take notes, you’ll make new discoveries about being the first vampire without fangs, and you’ll publish a paper.” She smiles.

“A paper that they’ll banish and burn and use to mock me in the Court.” He sulked.

“Ah yes, but that’s never mattered to you before, sugar.”

He stays on her couch for days, then weeks, and eventually gets his own bedroom until his fangs finally peek through his gums and proudly form as jagged and prominent as ever. On a canvas later that week, he paints himself as a bird.

A flock of birds flies overhead Las Vegas, and the night is cool, but the pavement is still scorching from the recently settled sun that slipped behind the horizon like a woman behind the curtain after her show is done. Yet, the sun is no woman compared the gem of the moon letting glimmering low light illuminate the dark parts of the city where bright neons dare not to uncover. That fear in the lurking realms is easily chased away by laughter, liquor, and smooth music, sifting its way past open ears and onto the streets bustling with every manner of woman or man that can find its way through the doors of The Sahara. The sound of chips on tables taps through the air as glasses tink together. Every night is a party, and every night, they grow bigger and wilder. Trumpets in the background feed the energy as a man’s voice encourages the crowd and sparks the delight. They call him Blue Eyes but the tickets read Roxas Fitz with a soul not even  _ the  _ Fitzgerald could put into words as strong legs move confidently across the stage before the song clips to an end. Taking a long drink of water from the glass provided to him between songs, those famous eyes meet another pair, green, in the back of the room. 

Axel Brenner wasn’t a big name to a lot of people, but the people behind the scenes knew. They knew what it meant for the redhead to sit in the VIP section, sipping a White Russian as he lounged on the couches talking to big names like Bugsy Seigel and Jean Harlow, laughing like the world was in the palm of their hands. Here they were, a performer from New Orleans and a businessman from California, staring each other down, “Ladies and gentlemen,” Roxas cleared his throat, “Thank you for a  _ very  _ nice evening.” He smokey voice rang out in the rather still air. All eyes were on him, “It’s been lovely to have been with you tonight.” The blond crooned into the mic, “This is our last song, and I’d like to dedicate it to the men who let me be here on this stage right now.” He lifted a hand, gesturing to the men in the back, all heads following his indication. 

The redhead’s face pulled into a smug smirk as their female company waved back at the blond cooing, “Fitz, how  _ could  _ you?” Before bursting into fits of giggles.

“Thank you again for making my small time New Orlean boy dreams come true. This is a little song called, ‘Hope to See you Again, Friend’, and I wrote it originally for a little lady of mine back home. Let its words carry you all home safely tonight, and into... good fortune.” He smiled, eyes falling shut as the serenade slipped out, stars twinkling in his words. At the end of the ballade, the crowd drowsily dispersed, some of them not quite done with their fun for the night and sneaking off towards the casinos away from their wives. 

Bugsy stood grandly, making a sweeping exit with Miss Harlow, and her friend Jessica Lewiski pulled and tugged at Axel’s hand, “Mister Brenner, we insist.” Her voice hypnotizing in the smoky room as the redhead put out his cigarette, “I’d love to have an escort back to my room.”

He waved her off, “I have some business to take care of here, Bugsy. Would you mind taking the dolls upstairs?” He didn’t like fast women anyways, and Miss Jessica was sprinting towards the finish. With his business partner and company gone, he was free to approach the performer as the musicians lined up to get paid and head home, “Hello, Mister Fitz. That was quite a show you put on. Glad I could make the scene.” He adjusted his cufflinks, “Mind if I buy you a drink at the bar once you’re done here?”

“I could use a drink.” Roxas admitted, voice kept purposely curt. He was feeling a bit parched after using his voice all night, but he didn’t appreciate Axel coming and ruining his ruise, “What do I owe the pleasure, Mister Brenner? I love meeting  _ new  _ people.” Catching the way the other reacted to him already knowing the redhead’s name, he chuckled a bit, “You don’t actually think I made it to this stage on talent alone, do you? You know just as well as I that show business is knowing everyone through a friend of a friend. Kairi told me you were in town, and that’d you appear to be just as charming and popular as she insisted. Surprise that you’ve remade yourself to be a king: a king of entertainment.” The blond smiled. There was a moment of tension, but twenty years of tension was cut through with the scissors of his smile. “No worries, Brenner, relax.”

Axel laughed somewhat shakily, not completely persuaded, noting that Roxas looked better than the last time he’d  seen him and went back to their game of chase, “Well, my reputation apparently precedes me in this day and age. Lucky me that it’s all good news. Please, call me Axel, Roxas. Names are powerful things, and I think we’ve been at this far too long; Mister Brenner sounds so formal. Do you go by Fitz or Roxas now?” He asked, opening the door into the lounge so that the two could proceed to the bar.

“Fitz usually for most people, but you’re buying me a drink, old friend, so you may use Roxas.” As if he could actually get the redhead to use ‘Fitz’,  _ hah _ ! Blue eyes dimmed in the low light as he took a seat and raised a hand to get the bartender's attention to order.    
  


“I heard you say you’re from New Orleans. Here I thought you’d left the city behind, but lots of beautiful clubs there. I’m sure you’re familiar with them, though.” The redhead gave a pause as he took a sip of his beverage and offered the blond a cigarette of which he accepted, “I saw you perform at the Copacabana in New York a little while ago. I told my friend LaSalle, you know LaSalle, yeah? You’re a reader after all! Of course you know LaSalle even if you left, anyways, told him, ‘That’s talent. That’s what we need in Vegas to bring in the high rollers. Everybody likes a party.’ And you’re what we need, Roxas. You’ve got it in you, I’m sure you know. It’s business, babe. You’ve got the look. You’ve got the voice. I want you to be a face for me.” He looked at the other expectantly.

“A face?” Roxas was tired and hadn’t been expecting a business proposition from this man he hadn’t seen in twenty years. “You pull me aside just to talk about my face?” 

“Like Frankie, Like Dino. I want you to bring people into my club. I want to offer you a spot at The Flamingo. Full time. You’re open to perform at other places outside of Las Vegas, but when people see you, I want them to think of The Flamingo. See Bugsy and me, we aren’t exactly the kind of faces that attract the crowds or the Bobby Soxers, but you kid? You’ve got a heart of gold as far as I can tell.” Axel winked at him. A heart of gold. A mouth of silver. Roxas snorts. He almost breaks the charade. They’re toeing a thin line anyways.

The blond politely laughed off the compliment, “Thank you, Axel, but to be honest, I hadn’t been expecting a business deal, and it’s a little late. Maybe we talk about this some other time, okay? I like the sound, but you’d need to talk to my talent agent, and while most of what Kairi said was positive about you, not so much about Mister Siegel. I’m not looking to get twisted up right now. This singing thing…It’s just for fun right now.” He wonders if he can get Axel to come up to his room and drop the act. Drop his pants. He’s thirsty for something other than business talk.

“But see,” Axel broke in to assure him, “Siegel wouldn’t be involved at all. He handles the hotel. I handle talent, amongst...other things, but mostly talent, and we  _ need  _ you, kid. And you need us, you’re already big. We can make you bigger. Then, we swipe people out of Ceasar’s Palace itself. After all, Flamingo ain’t called the grandest resort in the West for nothing.” 

Mulling it over, Roxas took another sip of his Side Car, “What else can you offer me? Other than a place to perform and money.”

“Ahaha, shrewd man, Mister Fitz. There’s business in your blood. I can tell.” The bartender is in front of them and Axel keeps up the act, “What else do you want? Booze, Broads-”

“That’s not where I get my kicks.” Roxas shook his head trying to hint that maybe something a little less of the times might be in the cards. When Axel doesn’t bite, it’s back to business since they're playing this dumb charade, “I want to get a spot in L.A. too. Hollywood. I want some of my music in movies. Maybe be in some myself. Siegel might not be involved with all this, but I know he has his hands in the Hollywood honey. Work it out with him, sound good?” He finished his cigarette and let it fall gently from between his fingers into the ash tray, “See you around, Axel.” He pulled out a business card, “That’s my agent. Feel free to call. I’ll talk to him tomorrow so you can work out the details.”

A layer of separation hurts, but it’s expected. Twenty years is a long time. “Sounds good, Rox.” The redhead accepted the card with grace between two fingers and with precision tucked it into his breast pocket, “It was a pleasure to talk with you as always.”

The blond raised a brow at his new potential business partner, “Pleasure was mine. Call me around sometime if you’d like to do something other than talk business. If you’ve learned from New York, then we’re lost souls that have found each other here in Vegas.” He laughed before smoothly sailing off on over crisp, clean carpet beneath the crystal stars hanging from the ceiling.

Axel was always a man of his words whether they be lies or truths, but the blond hadn’t really expected a day later around  late dusk on a Monday for Axel to pull up in his black Ford Thunderbird alongside the curb in South Meadows and grin at him, “Hey, let’s hang, Fitz.”

Laughing a bit in disbelief, he mocked insult, “I said _ to call my agent _ , Brenner.” Roxas marveled at the car that was lighting up in the golden light of the already set sun, “What am I supposed to do in these threads?” He raised a brow, noting that the redhead was dressed just as finely as Saturday night, “Go dancing? No girl in the room would sock hop with me.” 

“You don’t need a girl to dance. Now get in so I can punch it. We’re late.” He said with a toothy smile at a long reluctant sigh; the blond opened the passenger door and slipped in.

“You know, first impressions are one thing, but as far as second impressions go, you sure take the cake.” Roxas couldn’t help but laugh dropping out of the vocabulary, “Where we off to?”

Smoke and mirrors shatter, “Out into the sand, they remind me of home.” He sighs, “And I think I’m pushing more than a second impression. It’s been a long time, Rox. Not since those few moments we spent together. You left. I never got to tell you about my investigation into your fangs, and...that I was sorry for all I said about you.”

Roxas knows he’s supposed to feel fear here, but instead he just wants to sink into the heat of familiarity, “You treat me like property. Like I’m disposable. How am I supposed to respond to you popping into and out of my life? The last time was by invite, but you either fuck me literally or fuck me figuratively. I’m tired of being ripped apart.” His tone is tired. Jaded.

“Were you ever coming back?”

“You and I, we always find each other. After last time, I decided not to think about you or lust after you.” He supplied, “Eventually and as always, you found me.”

“Had to do hell of a lot of looking, though.” Axel frowned, “I had to switch business to get to you. Entertainment, Rox? Really?”

“Maybe I’ll show you what this golden voice can do sometime.”

The redhead laughed shaking his head, “I think I already know good and well.”

There is silence. They still drive, “I want out.” Roxas decides. He doesn't like this. Something feels wrong, and his stomach sinks, "You never find me. That's not how this works. Why? Why are you here? Stop the car!"  


“What? Now?” Axel asks incredulously, taking his foot off the gas.

“Yeah, yeah! I want out. Stop the car.”

The man snorts, trying to pull them over onto the side of the highway, “I’m not just going to stop the car, Roxas.”

“Stop the car or tell me exactly what you’re planning on doing with me this time. Where’s Namine?” 

Axel bites his lip, “I don’t have any plans. I don’t know where Namine is.” The car has slowed down, but they're still moving. Probably only going 40 now, Roxas thinks, could probably survive a jump if he decided to take it.

“Then stop the car. Let me out. Come back when you have something of value to say. I don’t want to play this game.” Roxas is prying at the car handle, and Axel reaches over as he starts to open the car door to close it.

“Roxas, baby, can’t we just have fun? Can’t this just be business for a bit? You can sing and-” The lights of the car flash over an antelope in the road, “Oh shit!” He hits the brakes. Roxas without his seatbelt and fidgeting isn’t prepared and flies forward through the windshield. Skull hitting the pavement as he is dragged forward with inertia. Face smeared an on the road in a stain. There is no one around to help them in the Nevada desert. Axel’s heart races as he gets out of the car. His whole body pumps adrenaline as he kneels next to the blond, “Roxas, Roxas, hey, hey! Wake up!” 

Dead probably on impact, the redhead doesn’t know how long until the blond might be alert again, “Oh fuck, fuck…” He can’t just leave him here. Dragging the body to the back of the car, he pops the trunk so Roxas won’t get all over his seats. It’ll  be fine, he tells himself. It’ll be fine. Probably better this way.

When he comes to consciousness, the blond is in a hotel room in bed. Bandages over his face, and he peels them away surprised at how sticky they are with fluid from his freshly formed skin. Looking around, he notes the sliver of light slipping through the curtains. The day has come, “Axel?” He calls out.

  
“Right here.” The voice leaks from the bathroom until its owner appears, “Roxas, I’m so sorry.”

“You killed me again. Amazing.” His jaw still hurts.

  
  
“Yeah, but you came back. My windshield is wrecked.” He’s trying to make a joke, and Roxas cracks a weak smile.

“I'm not sorry. Where’s Namine?” He’s more scared of her than anything else at the moment. Something had felt wrong almost instinctually in the car. He hadn’t known what tipped him off.

“I told you: I don’t know.” Axel watches him, “That’s what I was going to tell you. Namine isn’t with me anymore. After I confronted her about putting silver on your fangs, she got into your past. The time you spent together sounded fun, but she seemed angry about you not turning her. Turning someone is a gift, or at least it’s supposed to be. She thought you needed to be punished for lying to her.”

“I did lie to her. She’s right about that. I abandoned her, Axel.”

“Punishment...maybe, but capping fangs in silver is torture, Roxas. I’m surprised you didn’t rip them out sooner. Look, after that night, I realized that maybe she and I weren’t going to be an item anymore. I came looking for you. I told you some truth that night even while drunk. I do think you’re the only man I’ve ever loved. Whether it’s based on the bewilderment that I can’t kill you though is the wonder.” That was no more illusion in Axel’s words. They only loved each other due to the  regularity of a familiar face. Not friends out of similar backgrounds but out of the fact that they were the only ones that stood on top of the mountain. It was cold at the top. You needed someone to huddle for warmth with.

“What does the Court think?”

“The Court doesn’t care about my opinion anymore, Namine has gotten them to side with her, and that’s fine. I don’t mind. She’s a free woman with her own gifts. She’ll make a good ruler for the time being. We parted under a mutual understanding, but…I still need you.”

“You need me?” Roxas shudders at what that could mean.

“Yes, Roxas. Look, the business thing is a half truth. I can’t really live in Cali. Too much sun, and I’m banished by Namine from New York until I bring you back. I don’t know what her intentions are, but I can’t remain in exile. The Court was usurped from me. The younger nobles don’t remember enough of the old days or the old structure. Namine persuaded them against me.” Axel snorted, “Were you going to jump out of that car going seventy on the road to escape me? You must be dreaming.”

Laughing again nervously, the blond shifted uncomfortably on the mattress, ”So what, I’m going to be used to lure her out? You really can’t stand exile, can you?”

“No, not like this.” Axel pauses, “I...I want you to be my partner, Rox. I don’t think I can take the Court back alone. This isn’t my first time in a power struggle, but Namine can’t just be killed like the others. This isn’t Rome where if I defeat you in combat, I can just kill you. This isn’t Paris where I can leave you out to die by the sun in the palace gardens. This new generation needs a new leader.”

“And so why not Namine? You aren’t any better of a ruler than her, Axel. You just don’t like it because now you finally know what I’ve felt all these years being subjected to your whims.” He adds haughtily. 

“Roxas, I’m sorry. I know I’ve messed up with you. I know I let you hang in Rome unfairly. I’m not apologizing for Egypt, but maybe Milan, and Venice. I apologize for burying you alive. That must have been terrifying. That’s your gift, Roxas. You survive. You always come back. Also-” Axel stopped himself.

“Also what? You’re not really convincing me to work with you by running over how you’ve screwed me over.”

“You can’t be controlled. When I tried to stop you using my powers or even socially dissuaded you from emerging again in our underground, you still came back. You’re the underdog, Roxas. I need that.”

Pausing for a moment, a long sigh left his stinging lips, “Honestly, Axel. Why do you have to give me the ‘You’re a winner’ speech? Why can’t you just pit me against Namine for revenge like we’ve both been playing for hundreds of years?” He snickered, “I mean to be honest, that’s going to work better than this feel good mushy mushy new age stuff.”

Axel rolled his eyes, “Well I never know with you. You artist types are a bit unpredictable.”

“I’m thousands of years old, Axel. I like to think I’m as predictable as the fucking sun. Eat, sleep, sex, maybe a little church confessional after the sex depending on how twisted it is, more sex, maybe this time in the church confessional.” He let the redhead sit down on the bed next to him, “I really don’t know if I can help you with this, Axel. I’ve been doing well for myself lately.” Why would Axel pick him anyways? Yes, his hatred of Namine was a good point, but Axel and Namine were together for a long-

“Wait,” Roxas sat up, “Do you want me because Namine has absorbed your ability to control vampires from your blood? Is she- Is she  _ stronger than you _ ?” He shuddered at the idea.

Axel smiled sheepishly as if this wasn’t a terrifying revelation, “ You caught me… Plus, you are doing well for yourself; that’s the other reason why I came. You’re doing too well. Namine passed a new ordinance. The humans are writing stuff down. They’re remembering more. Vampires are not to become public figures with the rise of photography. The Court has an order of law now. They were going to find you. I think I’m only a few weeks ahead of them. Who knows what would have happened if they had gotten a hold on you.”

“And what? Just kill off Roxas Fitz? Make it look like an incident of the mob?”

“No need for that now.” The redhead quirked a brow, “I smeared you pretty good on the road. You would have been declared dead by the humans when they arrived.”

“Honestly, who gave you your driver’s license? I should hope in the future everyone must have hunted mammoths or be older to qualify. Can’t just have every vampire since the Renaissance running around with a Ford.”

“You’re such a grumpy grandfather, Roxas.” Axel snorted.

“With good reason.” He huffed, “Look, I’ll consider your offer on Namine. I make no promises, but I will consider it. Since I’m dead now, there’s no real reason to show up to work, so I guess I’m fleeing Las Vegas.”

“A shame too since I really do love this town.” Axel stood to walk to the other bed in the room.

“Like I haven’t heard that before. For once, if you like a place, you should act like you like a place and not do me dirty by killing me in some way.” He snorted, getting up to get dressed. “Come on, you owe me. We’re going out.”

Later that night, Axel has him in a classy restaurant eating what looks like to be three green beans and a sliver of potatoes. “Why is it the rich seem to eat the same as the poor, it’s just the portions are smaller and resemble a painting by Van Gogh?” Roxas scoffs, disappointed since the food is nothing more than ash to him anyways, “And for a Van Gogh, might I say, I can paint much better.”

“Roxas, that’s rude.” Axel hisses in laughter as their waiter approaches them with a bottle of wine. “But I’m sure you can paint quite well although I’ve never seen any. Your writing is good as well.”

“Well, practice makes perfect and I’ve had quite a bit of practice.” He inspects the back of his hand. It had been a hassle to get Axel to take him here, not due to the price or any aspect like that, but the glares of the other guests and the waiters explains it all. Roxas almost rolls his eyes. God, he can’t wait for this era to be over.

Perhaps the writing is the key. He hasn’t written anything in a long while, but New Orleans still had an old, familiar typewriter and an even older friend, “We’re going to have to go see Xion.” He decides, not explaining anything: Axel is confused. “I’m going to Thomas Paine your queen.” He explained weakly.

“Ah,” The redhead nodded, not at all following, “Whatever you need...You know, she is your queen too.”

“To be under a form of a government, I must first subject myself to being governed.” Roxas drawled, “And I’ve never been one for group activities.”

“I know, you’re quite the radical. Remind me to keep impressionable youth away from you or we’ll all end up doing nasty wicked things.” Axel hummed as he took a sip of his wine, “You know, now that we’re rejects, there’s nothing keeping you from living as you please.” He hints at Roxas’ more primal side.

“I was never showy. You know that.” The blond’s brows crinkled, “Axel, you must believe me. I never was. Most of those bodies you claimed were mine were Saix’s, and you knew that.”

Now there was a loaded name. 

His dinner companion had been leaning forward, and as the weight in the conversation shifts, he sits back, “I know, and I’ve apologized.”

“Well apologize some more. You seemed awfully eager to ignore it.” His eyes grow hard; his heart grows cold. “You let me rot quite happily.”

Saix, or Isa depending on the city, was one of the ex-king’s old advisors and his left hand, the mover of the shadow politics. Roxas couldn’t remember when he had been picked up by the circus troupe that was the Court. Somewhere between a friend and a love tryst, he had been cemented to the redhead’s side for a period of time. “You must have loved him if you would have covered for him so many times.” The blond pries. Axel like a flower begins to close his petals and guard himself, “Don’t. Don’t do this to me.” He whispered, “Axel, please, if you want this to work, you have to talk to me. We have to work through the past before I can give you a future. Why did you protect him?”

When Axel’s thin lips part, all he offered was this, “Love is such a silly thing, Roxas. You can feel it for minutes, for months. Perhaps things with Isa were of that nature, but it’s hard to tell with us. We truly are monsters, Roxas. Unable to love. Unable to live. I made a lot of bad choices. Do you remember the fall?”

“The fall?”

“Perhaps not.” Axel laughs gently, “How would you? When God sent us here, it was because you, my darling boy, tried to convince us to follow the big man and climb up there to trip him down from the throne. I begged. I pleaded for you at that trial. You were the highest ranking out of all of us, but you had become corrupted by the one who was supposed to oversee us. You could be reset. A beautiful specimen like you shouldn’t have been punished to the degree we were. I’m sure out of all of us, it hurt Him the most when he cast you out. Your betrayal destroyed the Father. He couldn’t just forgive and forget what you’d done. What we did...perhaps it truly was horrible. But then again, now Lucifer is in the air, and us low level soldiers are night walkers.”

“Wait…” Were they really talking about this? This thing that for so long had seemed like myths and foggy stories that he dreamed up late at night, “So… Everything you’ve said in the past about us-”

“Roxas, Angel of Light, I always figured that’s why the sun can’t hurt you. Perhaps he let you keep that to protect you.” Axel’s fingers twitch in a way that suggest he’s ready to go, so Roxas slaps down some paper and they head back to the room. “And yes, you and I were something of a pair, I was the Angel of Holy Fire after all. We were intimate for a long time. 

“So I was always, always an Old Blood.” His brows came together in confusion as he sat back down on the bed, “Why didn’t you tell me? If you knew me that long ago, why didn’t you tell me?” Axel moves towards him and begins to remove his shirt. “And if you loved me- Had loved me like you said we had loved one another, why would you hurt me in this life so badly?”

“I suppose, I always wanted to ignore responsibility. I pretended that you must remember. I told you, if I was a god, so then must you be. And I blamed you, I followed you blindly, and it got us in trouble.” He presses the words to the curl of the blond’s ear. “But then you didn’t remember, and I was socially bound. I didn’t have time to nurse a slave with a head injury when I was trying to set up an empire. You were...primal back then. I was afraid of what I couldn’t control.”

“You always go the extra mile when it comes to punishment, though.” Roxas grunts as Axel began to work over his neck with his lips, “Stop.” He puts his hands on the redhead’s shoulders and pushes lightly, “Talking about demon wars from thousands of years ago doesn’t really light the fire.”

“I’m hungry.” Axel shifts to the side after his explanation to leave Roxas some room, “Look. It’s all messed up. Everything was over such a long period of time. How was I supposed to fix it? How were you supposed to fix it?”

The blond’s face grows into a sulking pout as he considers his options, “I could have written things straight. I could have recorded our history.”

“And what? The humans get a hold of it?”

“They already know we’re out here, Axel. We’re a myth that’s only vaguely disbelieved.” Roxas begins, “ You can’t say they’re clueless about us when every acclaimed novel in the past 100 years has been about monsters, namely us. With our power, we could have...well, we did. We governed them. We made them rich. Gave them pleasures...” He is so tired. 

Axel bites the inside of his cheek and removes the rest of his clothing to sleep. He allows it to crumple on the floor. There’s several minutes of silence until a hand touches the blond’s chest where his heart should be, “I know I made mistakes. Please don’t leave me. You’re all I have left.” The king whispers in the dark; the broken sound was filled with a thousand years of their pain. “You’re all I have left.”

But a king without an empire is just a man, and Roxas pauses in his indecision before answering back. 

“I know.”


End file.
